


Dirge

by americanwerewolf



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angels, Angst, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Dark Magic, Death, Demons, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Gen, Gore, Horror, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves, cambion!chandler, chandler begrudgingly loves everyone, chandler doesn't die, dhampir!jd, duke also loves everyone but she's too embarrassed to say it, eventual vampire!veronica, except for chandler, mcnamara loves everyone, nephilim don't settle down ok, nephilm!mcnamara, none of them know they're not human- yet, poly mcnamara, possible jd redemption arc, seer!duke, she really is the demon queen of high school tho, she's been knew, they're all trying ok, werewolves play by the rules of werewolf: the apocalypse, yes technically chandler is half demon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-20 23:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americanwerewolf/pseuds/americanwerewolf
Summary: Sherwood, Ohio, is a hubbub for paranormal activity. Heather Chandler was born without a heartbeat (how's she even alive?). Heather McNamara's shadow sometimes has wings (it's gotta be an illusion, right?). Heather Duke sees things the way they really are (she can see the Shadow that follows the new kid). Giant wolves stalk the outskirts of the small town, rarely seen by the town natives. Jason Dean never seems to eat or sleep (but he has to sometime, right?). There's barely even a handful of normal students: Veronica Sawyer, Martha Dunnstock, Betty Finn... and trust me, being 'normal' is considered rare around here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is bound to be a little short. After this, I promise they'll be a little longer.

It’s September first- the beginning of the school year for Westerburg High. The hallways are bustling with restless teenagers already on edge to end the school year. There’s the freshman, wandering the halls to find their classes; the sophomores, complaining about sitting through another year; the juniors, wishing this year to be their last; and the seniors, who’re ready to bust out at the end of the year- there’s Martha Dunnstock, enthusiastically heading toward her first period English class; then there’s Kurt Kelly and Ram Sweeney, picking on an unassuming freshman; there’s Peter Dawson, talking to Betty Finn about yearbook problems… and yet, four of Westerburg’s most notable players are absent from the halls- which is mostly because they’re hiding. Enter Westerburg’s girls’ restroom, where Heather Duke is retching into the toilet, emptying her guts into the bowl. Heather McNamara is holding the former’s hair back nervously, fidgeting slightly. 

“Grow up, Heather!” The almighty, the queen of mean, Heather Chandler demands from the mirrors where she’s adjusting her lipstick. “Bulimia is  _ so _ 2018.”

“Gee,” McNamara prattles, “maybe you should see a doctor, Heather.” It’s an innocent suggestion, one that doesn’t mean any harm, but Duke is obviously nonplussed by McNamara’s suggestion.

“Yeah,” She snarks, “maybe I should. God, I need a mint.”

McNamara releases Duke’s long, flowy black hair and retrieves a coveted  _ Altoid _ mint, which she graciously offers to her clique-mate, “What you need is a doctor,” McNamara continues to insist, though she’s warded off by Duke’s icy stare. Duke pops the mint into her mouth and stands, smoothing her hands against her skirt, and pushes past McNamara. Duke fumbles through her backpack for her own makeup so she can fix it just as the first period bell rings- though, this doesn’t deter the (un)holy trinity from actually leaving the confines of the school bathroom… or at least, it doesn’t occur to them until Pauline Fleming- local failing guidance counselor- waltzes into the restroom to make sure there’s no stragglers. 

“Ah,” Fleming announces, voice wrought with contempt, “Heather, Heather, and Heather… Perhaps you didn’t hear the bell?” Her eyes dart to Duke, and she adds, “The vomiting probably drowned it out, hm?”

“Heather wasn’t feeling well.” Chandler states, folding her arms as she approaches the teacher. Chandler isn’t necessarily a towering giant, but her ego certainly may be. Now, Chandler turns on the  _ charm _ , smiling cruelly. “We were helping her.”

Fleming sneers, unaffected, which is off putting to Chandler, “Not without a hall pass you’re not. Week’s detention!”

“Actually-!” A flustered, stumbling maniac tumbles out from one of the empty stalls, startling the clique and the teacher, “All four of us are out on a hall pass! Yearbook committee,” The newcomer exclaims, almost all in one word. Fleming snatches the haphazardly crumpled piece of paper the newcomer holds, uncrumpling it with dreadful ease. She examines it, disgruntled, before she begrudgingly hands it back.

“I see you’re all listed.” Fleming grumbles, slowly backing away. “Just hurry up and get where you’re going, girls.” She leaves, and the newcomer breathes a sigh of relief- but it doesn’t last long. Chandler rounds on her, practically inches away, eyes narrowed in suspicion, as she snatches the note from the stranger.

“This is an excellent forgery… Who  ** _are_ ** you?” The demon queen demands, arms folded against her chest. The newcomer takes in a deep breath, quickly shoving her hand toward Chandler to shake dutifully.

“Veronica! Veronica Sawyer.” The newcomer replies quickly, slightly panicked, her eyes wide. “I-I crave a boon.”

“Boon?” Chandler sneers, tucking the note in her pocket- staring at Veronica as if she may have lice. “What boon?” 

“I… let me sit at your table, please. Just once.” Veronica begins, clasping her hands together. “If I sit at your table people will think you tolerate me… they’ll leave me alone.” Chandler just laughs, igniting a whole chorus of laughs from McNamara and Duke as well- the three are clearly bemused at Veronica’s attempt to win them over. They turn to grab their backs, and Veronica quickly adds, “Please! I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes.” Chandler smirks, slowly putting down her bag. Duke and McNamara appear confused at first, but they slowly follow their leader’s actions.

“Do you do prescriptions?” Duke asks, half-sneering, but Chandler cuts her off.

“Shut up, Heather.” The leader snaps as she approaches Veronica again, inspecting her up and down. Chandler grabs Veronica’s face, squinting as she examines Veronica like an odd find at a thrift store- as if any of the Heathers had ever set foot in one.

“Hm… for a greasy little nobody,” Chandler sniggers, “you  _ do _ have good bone structure.” She curtly releases Veronica’s face, mulling over this  _ important _ decision. 

“Oh, uh… Thank you?” Veronica says meekly, hesitant to even say that much. After all, her entire reputation is on the line here. McNamara steps up to the plate, snatching Veronica’s face in her hands with wide honey-brown eyes.

“And you’ve a symmetrical face!” The yellow girl exclaims. “If I took a meat cleaver down the center of your face I’d have matching halves… that’s very important.” Veronica gulps, confused, but she doesn’t interject when McNamara releases her face and steps back with a small, satisfied nod. Chandler and McNamara look to Duke, as if waiting for the last of the triumvirate to add in her two cents. 

“Of course,” Duke jibes, “you could stand to lose a few pounds.” She wraps her arms around herself, watching Veronica with the likeness of a bird of prey. Chandler stares at Veronica a while longer, as if trying to figure her out, before she smiles- her ruby lips curving into an almost mischievous expression.

“What do you say, girls? Are we taking applications?” Chandler snickers after a moment before she looks to Duke and McNamara, “We’ll need lipgloss… mascara, too. God, Veronica, bareface just doesn’t do it for you.”

“Oh, thank you-” Veronica begins, but she hardly gets to finish her sentence.

“Stop.” Chandler commands. “We’ve hardly helped you yet. Heather, your brush. Heather, can you work on her face?” The head Heather holds her hand out expectantly, and almost seconds later a gold brush is placed within her open palm. Chandler gestures for Veronica to turn around with a small twirl of her finger, which Veronica complies to in seconds. Chandler isn’t necessarily  _ gentle _ whilst detangling Veronica’s short, chestnut hair; but she’s getting the job done nonetheless. McNamara and Duke set to work doing Veronica’s makeup, occasionally uttering things like- 

“Stop blinking, you pillowcase!”

Or, 

“Jesus, Veronica, hold still!”

Veronica’s mostly certain both phrases are from Duke, since McNamara is absolutely set on making her look nice. Duke’s pretty determined, too, but she’s not as into it as McNamara. It’s only a few moments before the Heathers are admiring Veronica like she’s the last piece of cake at a birthday party. 

“Beautiful.” Chandler declares, her voice resonating through the bathroom. Gee, does her voice always carry like this? Veronica’s too dazed to notice, or try to remember- and frankly she’s too busy staring at herself in the mirror to care. “Of course,” Chandler adds, “we will need to find you something else to wear… these dirty rags won’t do.” She sneers at Veronica’s coat and scarf. 

“I, um,” Veronica snaps out of her daze, “I might have something nicer back home.. Like, a blazer or something.”

“Good. Wear that tomorrow.” Chandler instructs. The blonde tilts her watch toward her eyes, huffing slightly at the time. “But we best be off. See you at lunch, Sawyer.” Westerburg’s Julius Caesar waves to her Marc Antony and Brutus, as if ordering them to pick up their bags. Chandler grabs hers first, yanking it upward with more force than necessary. A book drops from the slightly opened back, but Chandler doesn’t seem to notice it; nor do Duke or McNamara. 

“O-oh! Heather!” Veronica calls, rushing to pick the admittedly worn and fading book up from the bathroom ground, but when she turns the Heathers are gone. Veronica frowns momentarily, looking back down on Chandler’s dropped treasure. The cover is made from fading leather, so it’s clearly seen better days, and it seems to have landed open on a page. Against her better judgement, Veronica decides to look at the open page. It’s a very, very rough sketch- Veronica didn’t know Chandler was an artist- of some type of canid. The creature looks like it’s walking toward something, eyes focused on the drawer (Chandler, obviously) with a remarkable hesitancy. There’s other sketches of the same creature on the page, though it’s posed differently; and it’s always with some different expression- contemplative, afraid, angry… All that jazz. 

And, scrawled in the corner in all lower case with careful spacing, is a single word: ‘ _ r i f t _ ’... whatever that means, Veronica isn’t sure. Veronica closes the book with a gentle ease, tucking it under her shoulder. It’ll be easy to return to Chandler, anyways, because they have first period together anyway.

* * *

“Did you hear about what Kurt and Ram’s dads did last night?” Duke leans over the table, grinning ear to ear- not with malice, just general glee to be speaking. “People are saying they actually  _ trapped _ one of the wolves. They’re gonna try and kill n’ skin it later. I hear it’s  _ huge! _ ”

“Woah!” McNamara exclaims, eyes widening. “Really?” They speak with the hushed tones of young girls trading secrets, hoping not to get caught by their teachers. The ‘wolves’ they speak of- commonly referred to as the  _ Sherwood Phantoms _ due to the fact they’re rarely seen- are one of the town’s greatest mysteries. They’ve been around forever, really, or at least it seems that way. There’s usually six or seven of them, but as of late there’s only been five. 

Chandler snorts and rolls her eyes, “Please. Paul Kelly and Bill Sweeney are idiots, just like their spawn. What makes them so clever that they’d even be able to get within five feet of the mutts, huh? No one else’s even gotten close to them before.” It’s then that Veronica sits at their table, drawing the attention of the three girls away from their conversation and onto their interloper. “What do  _ you _ think, Veronica?” Chandler asks, icy eyes trained on Veronica.

Veronica blinks, confused, “About what?”

“Haven’t you heard? Apparently this is  _ all the rage. _ ” Chandler rolls her eyes, mostly in regards to Duke and McNamara’s gossiping. “Our very own Mr. Kelly and Mr. Sweeney caught one of the elusive phantom wolves. You know, the wolves that stalk the shadows of Sherwood?”

“Oh.” Veronica frowns. “I’ve seen the photos.”

This catches Chandler off guard, “Photos?” 

Veronica nods, fumbling for her phone, “Yeah, Kurt and Ram are posting them  _ everywhere.  _ I’m surprised you didn’t know.” Veronica hesitantly hands over her phone.

“I’ve got better things to do than drool over their social media feed,” Chandler growls in annoyance, snatching Veronica’s phone from her hand to inspect the photos herself. But Veronica’s right- this  _ is _ a wolf; and it’s one Heather Chandler has seen before.

In fact, it’s one Heather Chandler knows  _ personally _ .

It’s a lie that no one’s gotten close to any of the wolves before- Chandler knows this because  _ she has _ . 

“Where is this?” Chandler snarls. Duke, McNamara, and Veronica stare at her blankly with muddleheaded stares. Chandler turns on them, eyes like grey embers, and snaps her fingers. “ _ Where is this? _ ”

“It’s…” Duke blinks, surprised with Chandler’s sudden outburst. “I think they took it outside of Ram’s shed? Y’know, the giant one by the pool?” Chandler shoves Veronica’s phone back to her, grumbling all the while.

“Sawyer,” Chandler snaps, rubbing her temples, “I need an absence note. Pronto.”


	2. Chapter 2

“An absence note?” Veronica asks, blinking in surprise. “Why… do you need an absence note? Can’t it wait ‘til after school?” Chandler glares daggers at Veronica as if she’s enraged Veronica even has the gall to  _ ask _ .

“No, it can’t wait.” Chandler growls at the newcomer. “Don’t be a fucking pussy, Sawyer. I need an absence note.” Veronica pulls out her notepad, quickly scribbling down a pass for Chandler- slightly embarrassed to be snapped at so quickly within her time as a ‘Heather’. 

“Sorry,” Veronica mutters, “I was just curious.” Chandler doesn’t respond, she just stews and stares at Veronica impatiently. 

“We haven’t even done lunchtime poll,” McNamara whines, earnest, her round honey-brown eyes watching Chandler expectantly. Chandler just rolls her eyes.

“God, Heather, so what? Just do it with Heather and Veronica. Show our little stray the ropes.” Chandler rolls her eyes, snatching the finished note from Veronica’s waiting hand. She turns her predatory gaze to Duke, “You can handle that, can’t you?” 

Duke’s eyes widen in surprise, but it’s clear she’s honored to be taking on this responsibility, “Yeah, I can do that. What’s the question?”

Chandler sneers, “You were with me in study hall when I thought of it, you pillowcase.”

Duke averts her gaze at this, “Sorry, Heather, I forgot.”

“Whatever.” Chandler mutters, grabbing her bag as she gets to her feet. “Just think of a new one… you three have enough common sense to come up with a question, right?” With that, Chandler storms out of the cafeteria. McNamara, Duke, and Veronica sit in silence for a moment, staring at the door Chandler had exited from, before Veronica turns toward the remaining Heathers. 

“Does that usually happen?” Veronica asks with a small frown. 

Duke sighs with a shrug, “What, Heather skipping class? Yeah. Heather caring about animals? No.” McNamara twiddles her thumbs- it’s obvious the two Heathers aren’t sure what to do without their fearless leader. They exchange a nervous, unknowing glance before they turn back to Veronica.

“Do  _ you _ have any ideas for the lunchtime poll?” McNamara asks, leaning against the lunch table. 

“Well…” Veronica taps her pen against her chin, thinking. “I don’t know. What’s the lunchtime poll even for? I mean, you guys usually only ask the jocks and the country club kids.”

“I think it’s just to show everyone that Heather is humble enough to walk among her subjects,” Duke snickers with genuine humor- which makes Veronica smile a little, “It doesn’t really have a purpose. Doesn’t even make it into the yearbook half the time.” 

McNamara offers a tiny smile, “Usually Heather thinks up the questions-”

“She doesn’t use ours.” Duke interjects. “So I’m hoping we don’t fuck this up.”

“Maybe you should do the question, then.” Veronica tells Duke. “I don’t really have any ideas… do you?” She looks at McNamara curiously, who shakes her head- golden curls bouncing over her shoulders.

“Well…” Duke trails off, though she’s happy to see Veronica suggesting she lead something for once, “I do have  _ one _ idea. How’s this sound:  _ ‘Is suffering a necessary part of the human condition? What would people who never suffered be like?’ _ .” 

“Woah, that’s deep,” Veronica blinks in surprise. 

Duke only grins, “Heather usually asks shit related to money, and it’s always the same answer. Everyone tries to seem all noble n’ shit and say they’re gonna give the money away… but I know differently,” Duke’s grin morphs into a scowl, “none of these assholes would help anyone else. They’re all selfish.”

“That’s… actually insightful.” Veronica murmurs, taken aback a bit. Sure, the Heathers aren’t necessarily selfless, but… Duke’s kinda hit hammer on the head with this one. Veronica scribbles down Duke’s question on the notepad. “Alright, now what?” 

McNamara actually seems excited at this point, “Now we walk around and ask the question! It’s pretty fun.”

“How’s it fun?” Veronica asks, genuinely curious. “You’re asking the same people over and over again. Wouldn’t it be better to, like, ask the entire lunchroom rather than two tables?” Duke and McNamara look at Veronica as if she’s just suggested they roll in burning garbage. 

“That’s not how Heather does it,” McNamara pouts slightly, conflicted about  _ betraying _ her best friend- though Duke’s abashed expression fades all-too-quickly, and soon she’s sneering.

“Heather isn’t here, is she?” Duke snaps- perhaps enthused to be taking over, or perhaps she’s excited to potentially defy an unwritten rule Chandler’s put in place. Duke glances at Veronica, “You’re right. Maybe it’s time we got some new answers. Maybe we can finally put this shit in the yearbook. C’mon, Sawyer, let’s go.” 

And so they go. Duke climbs to her feet, practically beaming with pride and powerlust, as Veronica trails behind. Veronica glances around, somewhat ashamed she’s left Martha to sit alone, but she decides it’ll all be worth it in the long run when all these idiots leave her alone. Duke’s question is, apparently, a thinker. Courtney, at the country club table, is taken aback; though, she does say something along the lines of ‘no pain, no gain’. The jocks aren’t able to comprehend the depth of this question, so Duke (strategically) skips over their table. The nerds think suffering is unfair, the goths think Duke’s question is deep and beautiful- Veronica notices how Duke’s ego and confidence seems to inflate with pride at this-, and Martha says that suffering isn’t part of the human condition and humans deserve to live in loving communities where everyone supports one another. 

Then they’re at the last table, which is how Veronica meets  _ him _ . Veronica assumes he’s new because she’s met everyone in Sherwood, and she sure as hell hasn’t met this kid before. His shaggy black hair almost covers his eyes, and there’s a double piercing on his left earlobe-  _ edgy _ . His dark, sleep-deprived eyes slowly track to Veronica and Duke; an eyebrow quirking upward in curiosity and disgust. Veronica looks at him in awe, but Duke looks… mildly uncomfortable. She keeps glancing behind him, as if there’s something there looming over the boy’s body. Duke swallows uncomfortably.

“Greetings and salutations, Heathers,” he greets in a long drawl, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m not a Heather,” Veronica blurts, earning a slight glare from Duke, “I’m a  _ Veronica _ .”

“Well,” he says, “it’s nice to see at least  _ somebody _ has the guts to stand above the Lipstick Gestapo.” Veronica half-expects a rebuttal from Duke, but there’s nothing. Duke keeps staring, eyes wide… almost vacant. Duke grips Veronica’s arm with a tight, unbreakable strength Veronica wouldn’t of thought the girl to be capable of.

“Thanks,” Veronica grins, slightly unnerved by Duke’s vise-like grip, “but uh, we’re doing this thing called a lunchtime poll? It may sound like a stupid question, but-”

“There are no stupid questions.” The boy responds, leaning back in his seat as he eyes Veronica curiously. 

“Okay, here it is:  _ ‘Is suffering a necessary part of the human condition? What would people who never suffered be like?’ _ .” Veronica reads off Duke’s question, to which the boy scratches behind his ear in perplexion. 

“Huh. I genuinely thought you’d hit me with something ridiculous. Um..” He trails off, actually surprised by Duke’s question- presumably thinking it’s Veronica’s, and Duke isn’t beaming with glory anymore-, as he thinks of an answer. “To live is to suffer, Veronica, and frankly I don’t know how to live without it. I only know how to suffer.” He offers a half-smirk, to which Veronica’s grin only widens. She thinks it’s cute, edgy. Duke’s left eye twitches involuntarily, and she turns away, hand still gripping Veronica’s. 

“Oh, uh, later!” Veronica calls as Duke pulls her away. 

“Definitely.” The boy responds, averting his attention.

“What was that about?” Veronica asks as Duke leads them back to the Heathers’ coveted table. 

“Sorry,” Duke mutters, “but, uh, that’s it right? We got the stuff down?” Veronica nods, still a little annoyed- but also concerned-, as they sit back down. 

“How’d it go?” McNamara chirps, setting her phone down. Duke shrugs, still shaking off whatever she’d been staring at- Veronica notes that Duke seems a little spacey now-, and sits beside McNamara. Veronica sits opposite of them, a little nervous. Veronica’s not sure what happens now, and Chandler isn’t there to bark orders, so really they’re on their own. “Good!” McNamara adds, like a parent who’s not really listening to their kids’ day. Then, “Heather just texted! She wants us to meet up after school, I think we’re gonna play croquet! She said she’d text us when she’s done." 

* * *

Heather grips her steering wheel with such strength her knuckles are beginning to turn white. Of  _ fucking  _ course she’d have to skip school and bail her stupid friend out of a stupid situation (not that she had to, but Heather figures she owes her friend this much). The images of the wolf, staring at the camera with such humanesque intelligence, with the chains and rope wrapped tightly around its legs and throat are embedded in Heather’s mind- and while she’s burning with rage and annoyance, she’s also harboring concern. She grits her teeth as Kurt’s house fades into view. She already looked at Ram’s house (it was stupid of her to not ask where she was going, Chandler admits, but oh well), and the wolf wasn’t there. So, the next logical place to look is Kurt’s. Heather’s lucky that Kurt’s parents aren’t home- Heather’s also lucky that her friend is still alive, though she doubts Mr. Kelly and Mr. Sweeney could’ve done anything to harm her friend. Heather parks her porsche just outside of Mr. Kelly’s house. She kills the running engine, grumbling to herself as she steps out of the car. She pops the driver’s seat momentarily so she can rummage around, producing a set of clothes a moment later. 

The clothes aren’t Heather’s- they’re too big, meant for someone taller and sturdier-, but she keeps them around just  _ in case _ , and she usually has different outfits every so often. The second thing she grabs is the bolt cutter she’d snagged from Mr. Sweeney’s shed from when she’d broken in over there.

Great- another thing to add to the list on top of all this shit, fucking  _ breaking and entering. _

“You  _ better _ be in there, or I swear to God,” Heather mutters to herself as she storms into Mr. Kelly’s backyard, absolutely seething when her heels sink into the muddy ground- reminding her it’d just rained last night. Mr. Kelly’s shed is kept locked by a padlock on the front door- which is no match for Heather’s stolen bolt cutters. It falls from the lock after Heather cuts it- though it takes some effort and strength-, and sinks into the mud as well. Heather tosses the bolt cutters aside and tucks the clothes beneath her arm as she pries the door open, grumbling all the while, to stare at the figure sitting calmly on the floor.

“Oh, hey,” The girl mutters, orange-gold eyes hidden beneath her messy ash-brown hair, “thought I smelled you, fiend.” The smile twists into a grin, one that Heather can’t help but return. The chains have been removed- presumably by the girl herself since they’d been tied to a much bigger creature-, and are scattered on the ground. The ropes have been torn to shreds.

“God, mutt, you’re helpless.” Heather sneers. “Can’t even go one day without needing me to rescue you, huh?” Heather tosses the girl the clothes beneath her arm, minding the fact she’s naked. Rift climbs to her feet, dusting herself off, as she pulls the plain white shirt over her head, ignoring the itchy fabric she’s not necessarily used to, before she pulls on the gray sweatpants too. 

“You need to stop buying me clothes.” The girl states, rolling her eyes. “It’s getting  _ impossible _ to hide them.” 

Heather rolls her eyes, “Please, having an excess amount of clothing is the  _ least _ of your worries, Rift. What the fuck were you thinking- how’d they even catch you? Aren’t you supposed to be fucking fast or some shit?” Rift frowns and heads out of the shed, her bare feet sinking into the mud as she stands by Heather’s side. 

“Not my fault they put fucking bear traps down.” Rift grumbles, folding her arms over her chest as Heather gestures for the werewolf to follow. “Look, not even  _ I _ can run with a broken leg.” Heather glances at Rift’s legs- which checks out because there’s a fresh, healing scar around her ankle. 

“You need to be more careful.” Heather snaps as they head toward her car. “Who else am I supposed to blow my dad’s money on if you’re dead?” 

“Oh,” Rift sighs dramatically, “I’m sure you’d manage to find some poor, unfortunate soul. But.. is this concern you’re showing? For little ole me?” Rift glances at Heather, smug. The blonde rolls her eyes.

“As if. I’ve got better things to be concerned about- like leaving my reputation in the hands of my minions.” Heather jibes. “God, they better not fuck the lunchtime poll up or I  _ swear to God _ .” 

Rift gasps, “You speak the Lord’s name and you don’t burst into flames? By golly, Chandler, there must be some humanity left in you after all!” The werewolf laughs- a melodic noise. 

Heather, however, is annoyed, “I’m still  _ half _ human, mongrel. Mind yourself. Besides, it’s not like you’re a  _ purebred  _ either.” 

“That’s different.” Rift laughs, though there’s no real malice behind their conversation. She bumps her hip against Heather’s, and though Heather is enamored by the gesture she shoots Rift a warning glare from habit. Still, Rift laughs again. “Still… thank you for coming to my rescue, my  _ knight in shining armor _ .” Rift snickers again. 

“I suppose you’re welcome.” Heather sighs. “I skipped class to free you from a wooden shed. How high and mighty of me.” She offers Rift a very small smile, though her eyes glint with amusement- something that doesn’t happen often. Rift is, surprisingly, a genuinely nice presence in Heather’s life; one she’s been accompanied by since she was seven. Though her and Rift’s friendship is unique, and is mostly built from insults and sexual tension, Rift is probably one of Heather’s closest friends… and that’s saying something, because Heather Chandler does not consider herself to have friends. 

She has minions.

Rift only smiles at Heather, her eyes glinting with affection, before she asks, “So, you busy this afternoon? I found this cool place in the woods last night, and-”

Heather snorts, “In the woods? Where you got caught in the beartrap? No thanks. Besides, I have plans. I’m playing croquet after school with Heather, Heather, and Veronica. Might hit up the mall… buy you some more clothes that’ll go to waste.” Heather had texted her cohorts at Ram’s house when she’d taken a break from searching for Rift. 

Rift quirks an eyebrow, “Croquet’s the game with the hammers, right? And gosh, Heather,” she laughs, “what do they even say when you buy this shit?” She gestures to the baggy clothes she’s wearing. “And who’s Veronica?”

“Mallets.” Heather corrects as they climb in her car, but she laughs at Rift’s question. “They think I’m buying them for some guy. They’re not far off, I guess, but you’re not a dude… and Veronica? She’s my newest protege, a mercy case.”

“No,” Rift sighs, “I guess I’m not. But I’m  _ your _ dude, right?” She grins. “And Heather Chandler? Taking on a stray? How rare.”

“If you mean friend, yes.” Heather says simply as she starts the car. “You’re also my part time emotional support animal.” 

“Animal?” Rift snorts indignantly. “I prefer canine-American, fiend.” Heather rolls her eyes again.

“You hungry?” Heather asks, changing the subject. “I could get you something to eat at my place before I set you loose.” Rift blinks calmly, mulling the offer over in her head.

“Yeah, I could eat. I’m kinda thirsty, too. Kinda burned all my energy healing my leg and turning human again,” She scratches the back of her head sheepishly, “so food wouldn’t be turned away. But aren’t your, ah, underlings coming over?” 

“It’s not like you can’t just turn back into a dog, right?” Heather scoffs. “Besides, they already know you’re a wolf… they’ve seen the photos.” Rift runs her hands through her hair, eyes widening.

“There’s photos?!” She exclaims, groaning. “God… I’m so glad mother doesn’t know about technology. She’d skin me alive.” 

Heather quirks an eyebrow, “Oh, like Mr. Kelly and Mr. Sweeney were planning on doing? Seems like you’d be fucked either way.” Rift sighs, allowing the conversation to pass into silence. Rift leans tiredly against her seat, composing herself as Heather takes them to her home. Heather awkwardly pats Rift’s shoulder, as if to lend her some sort of comfort, which Rift seems to appreciate. 

Finally, Rift asks, “If you’re gonna give me food, though, what’ll it be?” 


	3. Chapter 3

Duke, McNamara, and Veronica can’t focus on the game while there’s a three-and-a-half foot tall wolf (sure, that doesn’t sound large- but for a wolf? That’s huge!) aggressively eating milk and  _ Cinnamon Toast Crunch _ from a cast iron bowl. Its fur is, initially, an ash brown color; but there’s an odd svelte piebald coloration that splashes over the original fur color. It’s an odd mutation, but it’s unique. The Red Queen’s underlings are also in awe at the fact Chandler is absolutely unaffected by the wolf’s presence, casually taking her turn in the croquet game like the wolf is just some ordinary dog lounging on the porch.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Duke blurts, unable to look away from the wolf, “but are we gonna address the elephant in the room?” The wolf, hearing Duke’s voice, slowly lifts its face from the bowl; milk dripping from its muzzle, and looks from Duke to Chandler. If Duke didn’t know any better, she’d say the animal was  _ amused _ . 

“What about it?” Chandler asks, bored. She turns to Duke, leaning against her mallet with an eyebrow quirked. “I’d say the whole situation is pretty explanatory- Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb’s dads caught one of the  _ phantoms _ and wanna kill it. I, out of the kindness of my heart, free it and now we’re here.” The wolf makes an odd noise when Chandler talks about her heart- it sounds like a mix between a loud, abrasive cough and a human laugh; though it acts like nothing’s happened when the humans’ eyes all turn toward it. Instead, it goes back to wolfing down the cereal- pun intended. 

“Well, I mean…” Duke looks to Veronica and McNamara for backup, “it’s a wild animal, right? What if it gets spooked and attacks us?” 

“I guess… Heather has a point,” McNamara admits after a moment, though she winces at the look Chandler shoots at her, “it’s a little unnerving that it’s… here. I’ve never seen one up close. No one has.”

Chandler scoffs, “Don’t be a pussy. Rift’s not gonna-” Chandler backtracks, clearing her throat, “ _ it’s _ not going to hurt anyone.” Veronica quirks an eyebrow at the mention of the word ‘rift’- like in Chandler’s sketchbook, and… come to think of it… the cereal-loving wolf does look like the one Chandler drew-, but she allows it to slide. 

“What are you gonna do with it, then?” Veronica asks, casting a sideways glance to the bemused creature that Chandler may or may not have named. 

“What do you think?” Chandler asks. “I’m going to set it free. I mean, it’s technically free now. Just gotta wait for it to run off.”

“You fed it, though.” Veronica says pointedly. “Don’t animals come back if you feed them? What if it brings the others?”

“Trust me,” Chandler mutters, “the others aren’t a problem. They don’t come around here.” Her steely eyes glance toward Rift again, who’s almost finished with the cereal. It’s a comical sight, but Chandler hadn’t had anything else to feed the wolf. For a moment, Chandler doesn’t even see a behemoth lupine; she sees the curious-yet-frightened seven year old who’d stumbled into her backyard and gotten lost. Chandler can remember how much longer Rift’s hair had been (Rift practically sheers it off now, it’s usually cut choppily to her shoulders), and how at that point Rift had been much shorter than Chandler. While Chandler had changed and grown more distant, more cold, Rift stayed the same; steadfast in her loyalty to her oldest (and only) friend, with complete and utter trust in her half-demon counterpoint who she’s supposed to destroy one day.

Oh, you didn’t know? The  _ Sherwood Phantoms _ hadn’t just appeared out of thin air. Well, maybe they had in the eyes of other locals… but Chandler knew why they were really here, Rift had told her years ago. The wolves were there to monitor Sherwood’s own half-demon resident and put her down at a moment’s notice… if she got too powerful, at least. After all, werewolves- like angels and their halflings- were the protector of men apparently (Chandler isn’t sure if she believes that- but that’s what Rift says). Still, Rift often kept the others away- even though she often took the brunt of her relatives’ rage, which happens often… Chandler has seen the aftermath; she’s seen the scars, open wounds, and the broken bones. Besides Rift’s the one Chandler comes to afterwards, Chandler’s the one who cleans the wounds and sets the bones. Frankly, she’s learned a lot about first aid in the past nine years thanks to her werewolf friend. 

As soon as the words ‘they don’t come around here’ leaves Chandler’s lips, a low howl splits the silence of Duke’s turn. The girls’ heads whip toward the sudden noise, and freeze at the sight of the remaining four wolves standing on the edge of Chandler’s backyard. Rift freezes, her muscles rigid and tense, as her ember-like eyes slowly peer over at her family. The howl had come from a large wolf with graying brown hair- Chandler thinks that’s Nikos, Rift’s ‘step-father’. A smaller silver wolf, Malvolia, is beside him; and behind her stands two others- one has fur similar to Rift’s (minus the piebald), and the other has jet black fur and a twisted hind leg. Chandler remembers them as Ward and Atol, respectively, because they’re Rift’s half-brothers. 

“Thought they didn’t come over here, huh?” Duke mutters skeptically, though she’s still a little frightened. For Duke, McNamara, and Veronica it’s their first time seeing the phantoms… this is nothing new for Chandler. Rift looks to Chandler awkwardly, as if saying a silent goodbye, before she lowers her doggish head and slowly heads toward the members of her pack. Chandler notes Rift’s tail is tucked and her ears are pressed flat against her head- she’s scared, Chandler realizes, and frankly Chandler doesn’t blame her. Part of Chandler pities Rift (okay, she feels bad but she’d never admit it), but it’s not like Chandler can save her.

Not this time, anyway. 

“See? They’re leaving now.” Chandler groans, gesturing toward the retreating wolves. “Can we please finish the game?” 

“Have you seen them before?” McNamara suddenly asks, gripping her mallet tightly in curiosity. She’s eager to hear Chandler’s answer, but her question only makes their leader sigh in annoyance. 

“Once or twice.” Chandler lies as McNamara takes her turn. “They live around this area or something.” She gestures to the woods behind her large, fortress-like house. Her dad’s loaded, it’d make sense that they’d have a mansionesque house. 

“That’s so cool!” McNamara squeals as she takes her shot, sending her croquet ball through a wicket. “I can’t believe you’ve seen them!”

“ _ You’ve _ seen them too.” Chandler rolls her eyes in annoyance as Veronica steps up for her turn. “They’re really not that special. They’re just dumb animals.” Another lie. Then she changes the subject, “So, Veronica, did you hear about the party at Ram’s this Friday? You’re one of us now, you’ll have to come.” 

Veronica winces as she misses her shot, “I’m not really the party type, Heather.”

“You wanted to be one of us,” Chandler says pointedly, “so you’re in it with us. I’ll pick you up.”

“You’ll have fun!” McNamara beams as she pats Veronica on the shoulder. “There’s gonna be drinks and games and music!” 

Veronica sighs, defeated, and rubs at her forehead, “Fine, fine. Whatever, I’ll go.”

“That’s the spirit.” Chandler smirks, hitting her ball against Duke’s. 

* * *

** _What were you thinking?! _ ** Malvolia’s voice rings through Rift’s mind. Rift whines, fidgeting slightly as she averts her gaze from her mother. 

** _I wasn’t. _ ** Rift responds quietly, ducking low to the ground to try and seem submissive- which is difficult, given she’s one of the larger wolves of her family. 

** _You’re an idiot. _ ** Atol rounds on his younger sister, teeth bared as he limps toward her. Rift shrinks back- not necessarily afraid of the cripple, but afraid of what Nikos and Malvolia will allow him to get away with. Rift is the youngest, her standing within the pack is not very high. If she doesn’t submit, make herself seem afraid, she will most likely be harmed… and Rift is so, so tired of being harmed. 

** _Leave her alone. _ ** Ward snarls at Atol. The slightly larger wolf stands by his sister’s side, growling at the others. Ward is the only one who cares for Rift- that much she’s sure of (of course, Chandler is also an exception). Malvolia doesn’t truly care for any of her children- perhaps Atol is an exception, but he’s a  _ metis _ ; born from Nikos and Malvolia’s union, which is technically illegal in werewolf society… werewolves cannot produce viable children with other werewolves. Atol is one of the luckier  _ metis _ children, his disability is not as severe as it could be. Still, he’s insane- and Rift hates him. 

** _Stay out of this! _ ** Nikos’s jaws snap inches from Ward’s ear, causing Rift’s older half-brother to wheel around, ears flattening against his skull. Neither Rift nor Ward are Nikos’s children. They’re not sure who their fathers are; all they know is Malvolia will never tell them. Atol takes this moment to round on Rift, knocking her to the ground. Atol is much smaller than Rift, and not as strong, but the attack takes Rift by surprise. She’s still on her feet in an instant, ready to defend herself if need be. 

** _I told you to stay away from that monster._ ** Malvolia snarls as she approaches Rift, who seems to shrink at her mother’s presence. 

** _She’s not a monster. She’s my _ ** ** _friend_ ** ** _. _ ** Rift snarls, finally taking the moment to defend herself (even if it’s partly to defend Chandler’s honor). Rift bares her teeth slightly, trying to rebel just a little.  ** _Heather hasn’t harmed me, she hasn’t harmed anyone. She’s just a kid. _ ** Rift is also a child, barely younger than Heather by a month, but Malvolia doesn’t care. Malvolia’s teeth clamp around Rift’s neck, slamming her to the ground. Rift yelps aloud- it’s more out of fear than pain- as she’s forced downward, though she submits and goes limp. Malvolia’s grip is tight, but it’s not choking Rift… yet.

** _It_ ** ** _ is a demon! _ ** ** _It_ ** ** _ is nothing good, and _ ** ** _it_ ** ** _ is not your friend!_ ** Malvolia snarls, her teeth beginning to draw blood.  ** _You are a fool to believe that monster could ever be your friend! That monster is the reason we’re here, you foolish pup! _ ** Malvolia slams Rift’s head into the ground. Rift cries out as her noggin crashes against a loose stone. Rift topples onto her side, whining all the while, as her brain begins to pound against her skull. Maybe she is foolish, but Rift knows Heather isn’t a monster. Rift knows, deep down, Heather is her friend. Finally, Malvolia releases Rifts throat. Her lip curls upward in contempt as she looks over Rift’s limp, shivering form. She’s bleeding from the bite wound on her throat, though it’ll heal soon enough (maybe not as fast as Rift would like, wounds from other wolves always take forever to heal). 

** _Let’s go._ ** Malvolia growls loudly after a few moments, turning on her heels as she heads deeper into the woods. Atol looks at Rift, eyes filled with malice, before he and Nikos follow. It’s Ward who stays behind, slowly laying beside Rift to keep her company. Rift doesn’t want to stand, not now, because her head is still spinning. Ward gently nudges Rift with his nose, but she doesn’t move. She’s not dead, just stunned, and she offers a low whine instead. Ward rests his head on his paws, waiting for Rift to recover. It’s a full fifteen minutes before Rift slowly climbs to her feet, her usually intense eyes filled with exhaustion. 

** _I’m not following. _ ** Rift declares, turning in the opposite direction.  ** _Do as you please, but I’m not going with them. _ **

Ward’s eyes betray his apprehension,  ** _You can’t go back to the demon. They’ll kill you one day, you know, if you keep going back. I can’t protect you all the time, Rift, no matter how much I want to. _ **

** _Then don’t. _ ** Rift responds curtly, limping away from her brother. Ward stares at her a bit, as if trying to decide what to do, before he turns in the direction the rest of the pack disappeared to. Part of Rift is angry that Ward doesn’t follow her, but the other part of her understands. Ward is right to fear Malvolia, Nikos, and Atol; but Rift, deep down, can’t stomach to cower before them- it’s not in her nature to cower, it’s not in her nature to be blindly afraid. Maybe she’s picked that up from Heather… she’s not sure. Her paws sink into the still slightly muddy ground, and mud clings to her pelt from where she’d hit the ground. Rift exhales loudly in annoyance, wishing she could go back to Heather- but Ward is right, she probably shouldn’t. Not now, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Heather shouldn’t be outside, but she is. It’s storming out- thunder rolls overhead, lightning crashes nearby. But she’s outside anyway, water soaking her golden locks and her pajamas as she creeps outside. Her frightened, yet curious, eyes peer around her back yard; hands wringing together uneasily as she walks forward. If her dad finds her outside, she’ll kill Heather (her mom wouldn’t, but she’s still at work- so Heather will face her father’s wrath alone)… it’s past nine-thirty, and Heather McNamara should be in bed. Besides, it’s her first day of second grade tomorrow; and she needs the sleep.  _

_ Then she hears it again- the loud shuffling noise that drew her out in the first place. Earlier, it had been by her window- now it’s by the garage. Heather creeps toward the noise, her ever growing curiosity intensifying as she tries not to slip on the slick grass beneath her feet.  _

_ Wait… shouldn’t her mother be getting home around now? Maybe it’s Heather’s mom! The feeling sends a wave of joy through the young girl as she rounds the corner, and- _

_ Heather screams.  _

_ Her mother is lying on the ground, eyes wide and mouth set in a terrified ‘O’. Her mother is not breathing, and the creature on top of Mrs. McNamara is even more terrifying. It’s around the same size as Heather, with slimy gray skin that looks like it’s falling off the creature’s body. It has a skeletal nose, and decaying clumps of hair on its head, and a round mouth lined with rows and rows of teeth. Its lips are stained with blood from Mrs. McNamara’s stomach, which it’s slowly been devouring.  _

_ It leaps at Heather, hellbent on taking her life too, and Heather screams and there’s a bright white light and her back feels like it’s on fire and-  _

McNamara startles awake, gasping as she shoots up. She glances around, still heaving for air, and finds that she’s safe- she’s still at Chandler’s house, surrounded by her friends. Duke and Veronica are asleep, but Chandler isn’t. She’s sitting by her windowsill, but her eyes are on McNamara (McNamara figures Chandler had been looking out the window prior to this). 

“Nightmare?” Chandler asks, slowly turning her gaze back to the window after a moment of looking McNamara up and down. McNamara remembers they’d decided to stay late at Chandler’s to watch a movie, which is still playing on Chandler’s TV. They’re in her room as well, surrounded by pinks and reds. McNamara pulls her knees to her chest, finding she’s on Chandler’s bed, and is grateful she hadn’t woken Veronica and Duke.

“Yeah.” McNamara responds with a small nod, though it’s less of a nightmare and more of a horrid memory that’s haunted McNamara for years. They’d written Mrs. McNamara’s death off as an animal attack- maybe blaming the phantoms-, but McNamara knows what she saw. She slowly reaches into the back of her shirt, her fingers digging into her shoulder, as her fingertips press against the discolored skin of her wing-shaped birthmark; the one that takes up her entire back. Chandler glances back at McNamara, as if assessing if she’s being honest or not, before she offers a tiny nod and stands up.

“Must’ve been pretty bad,” Chandler says, “if it woke you up like that.” McNamara glances at Chandler. It’s apparent that Chandler may already know what McNamara’s nightmare entailed, but she- for once- doesn’t pry. Maybe Chandler figures it’s not her place, or maybe she doesn’t care enough. 

“It was.” McNamara says simply, glancing at Chandler’s alarm clock. It’s 11:11 p.m., and McNamara doubts Duke and Veronica will be getting up any time soon… it would seem they’re staying overnight now. It’s not the first time they’d stayed out on a school night, but McNamara knows her father doesn’t much care for it. “Heather?” 

“Hm?” Chandler asks, digging through her school bag for her sketchbook. McNamara’s seen its contents a few times- there’s some sketches of herself and Duke (they’re quite flattering, honestly), but aside from that the rest of the contents are rather… dark. There’s terrifying creatures (Chandler says she sees them in her dreams sometimes), and a bat-like monster with giant wings and teeth… there’s even the creature McNamara saw, the one that killed her mother…

The one that Heather McNamara slayed on her own, without even touching it. 

“Do you ever think… that maybe there’s more to our world?” The golden girl asks, rubbing her arm awkwardly. “Like… beyond humanity?” Chandler pauses for a moment, quirking an eyebrow and turning toward McNamara. She gives McNamara a look like Chandler didn’t expect her to ask a question so… profound. 

“Maybe there is.” Chandler says simply, her thoughts drifting to Rift… to what she really is. “Why?” McNamara doesn’t answer, she just turns her gaze toward the window, taking note in the rain that pours from the sky. 

“It’s rained a lot lately.” She comments, her voice near silent. Chandler nods her agreement. 

“It has.” Heather Chandler responds, then adds beneath her breath, “Change is coming, isn’t it?” 

McNamara barely catches the words, and she frowns, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Chandler responds. “Maybe we should just go to bed.” She offers McNamara a very small, very tired smile. There is no biting remark, no scoff, no rebuttal. Just exhaustion, evident behind those stormy eyes. 

“Heather?” McNamara finds herself asking again, and the shorter blonde sighs in near-annoyance. 

“Yes, Heather?” Chandler responds, folding her arms against her chest. 

“What were you doing?” McNamara asks, tilting her head. “By the window, I mean.”

“Waiting.” Chandler informs McNamara. 

“For what?” 

Chandler’s eyes slowly gaze toward the window, and she frowns- as if she senses something’s amiss, but she’s not sure what, “It doesn’t matter anymore. I was wrong.” 

* * *

Jason Dean knows things.

Not a lot of things, but he knows what he’s learned. 

JD was six when he shot his first gun on his first hunt. He remembers how his father praised him, and he remembers the empty, sightless eyes of the girl whose life he’d stolen. Bud Dean had told JD the girl wasn’t safe- she was a witch, she was bad. JD’s boots crunch against the pavement as he steps over the soaked fallen leaves on the sidewalk. His dark hair is plastered against his forehead, rivulets of rain water drips in front of his dark eyes and dance down his nose, but there’s not much he can do to stop the weather. His thoughts drift back to the girls in the cafeteria who’d approached him- the girl in blue is cute, he decides, and irrevocably human; and the green one… human too, but different. The green one- a Heather- smelled human, but she stared at JD with a clarity he’d never seen in a person before. 

So maybe not  _ completely _ human.

But she wasn’t a halfling- not like the red and yellow Heathers-, and she wasn’t a beast like the so-called ‘phantoms’ JD had heard about (he wasn’t about to trifle in the affairs of werewolves, that wasn’t in JD’s line of jurisdiction)... He shrugs it off and decides to continue down the path, ignoring the flashing of lightning overhead. Supposedly Big Bud Dean’s supposed to be tearing down some old, rotting apartment complex- but JD knows that’s not true. They’re not here for demolition- that’s a front. They’re here for something more, something deadly. 

_ “I’ve never killed a demon’s spawn before… or an angel’s.”  _ JD can remember his father saying, clear as day. Deep down, this sits… wrong with him. But on a surface level, JD is numb to the empathy that’s been drained from his being; he’s a hunter, like his father, and his father’s father. It’s in their nature, their bloodline as  _ Dhampir _ (long story short, JD’s got vampire blood in him. His grandfather had been a vampire, his grandmother a human.), and it’s their duty to protect mankind… in a similar fashion to werewolves, JD guesses, but for different reasons. Think of it this way: werewolves are dogs, protecting helpless victims… and dhampir and vampires are hungry, trying to keep their food supply safe. It’s not like JD needs humans to survive anyway, he’s more human than his  _ old man _ , but ever since his mom’s passing…

Well, let’s just say regular food has been harder and harder to come by. 

JD walks for a while longer, humming softly to himself, and catches a small movement from the corner of his eyes. When he turns, there’s one of the wolves; it’s not too large, and it doesn’t look like a threat- it has jet black fur, cruel eyes, and a twisted deformed leg. JD stares at it, unabashed and unphased, before he continues walking. The wolf snarls again, as if contemplating attacking- it can smell what JD is, JD assumes-, but there’s a handful of noises from across the street and the wolf decides against attacking JD.

As if it could cause any real harm to him in  _ that _ form anyway. Out of the five werewolf forms, the one the wolf was situated in- JD remembers it as the  _ lupus _ form- it’s one of the weakest… except for maybe their actual human forms. But the others are… worse, to say the least. JD’s aware that a fully shifted werewolf, a  _ crinos _ , could kill him in one blow. At least those are rare, and JD counts himself lucky… for now. He’s not sure what these werewolves are capable of, not yet at least.

But he’ll find out, he decides, and all it’ll take is a little time. 


End file.
